


Handprints

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Biting, Bruises, Confessions, Creampie, Crushes, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Kiyoshi Is Yandere, Lap Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Secrets, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "Kiyoshi lifts his hand, his fingers slick with condensation, to the hem of your dress. He returns your smile as he pinches the material between his long digits and tugs the fabric taut. His knuckles graze your thigh and you jolt as a shiver rockets down the length of your spine." Kiyoshi's hidden secrets come to light in a very unexpected turn of events.
Relationships: Kiyoshi Teppei/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 160





	Handprints

You fall out of the icy grips of winter and spring right into summer. The days are hotter than usual, setting several records and blanketing clear blue skies in hazy lines of heat. It's a miracle the pavement is holding up to the record temperatures, burning like Hell right under your feet. You're convinced that if you were to somehow claw your way through the construction aggregate, concrete, and loam that you would find Satan himself waiting for you right beneath the surface.

You make your way home with more effort than what should be strictly necessary. You trudge up to your front door, back slightly hunched and sweat heavy on your brow. You're finding it hard to breathe, the humidity oppressive and heavy in the air. You nearly collapse in relief when you step inside your home, the sultry proof of today's weather sticking to your skin turning cool due to the blessed central air conditioner you had installed last summer. You slump against the resistance of wood at your back and exhale a slow breath. Your moment of respite is cut short, however, when a knock at the door shakes you into full awareness. You cry out and whip around, hand on the knob like a gunslinger reaching for their sandalwood grip. You yank open the door, heart hammering in your chest and pulsing in your ears, only to reveal the shadow and face of a familiar boy.

“Is now a bad time?” Kiyoshi asks, concern rounding his tone and spreading out across his strong features.

“You just scared me, is all,” you answer, slightly breathless and laughing. “Come in.” You step away from the door in a gesture of welcome and wait for Kiyoshi to enter.

“I didn't mean to,” he tells you, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes. He smiles and the warmth of it spreads to heat in your veins. “Though I have to admit, you look cute when you're scared.”

For the first time since you stepped out and into the glare of the merciless sun, you're grateful for the heat still warming your skin. You smile, happy that your blushing cheeks will remain a secret for now, and for the genuine compliment swelling your heart. You tuck a section of hair behind your ear and lower your chin toward your chest. You think about thanking him but the words stick to your tongue like drying honey so you aim for a diversion instead.

“So what brings you here today?” you ask him, absentmindedly shuffling your feet.

“Honestly, I was just passing by and I wanted to check in on you. It's dangerously hot out there,” he adds, as if you don't already know with the fabric of your dress sticking to your skin and the sweat beading at your temples.

“Yeah, I just got home actually.” You tug at the neckline of your dress and involuntarily flash Kiyoshi the line of your cleavage. His gaze drops to the swell of your breasts but he's quick to return it to your face in a well-mannered act becoming of his decorous personality. You smile to yourself and smooth the fabric down over your stomach. “I was just thinking about hopping into the shower. I don't have any plans of going back out into that hell-fire.” You jerk your head in the direction of the door and furrow your brow.

“I'm not too excited to go back out there myself,” Kiyoshi confesses. He smooths moisture into his lips and you can't help but track the pink tip of his tongue before it disappears back into his mouth. He grips the hem of his white tee and draws it up and over his abs to dab at the sweat glistening along the line of his brow. You try to divert your gaze but it's hard not to notice the chiseled muscle and years of hard work showing in the definition sculpting his abdomen.

“Would you like some sweat?” you ask, sparing a sideways glance at a bead of perspiration that joins the dark line of hair disappearing behind the waistband of his shorts.

“I think I have quite enough of that but I wouldn't say no to some water,” Kiyoshi answers, releasing the now-damp fabric from his hold. It falls back into place, just below the sharp angle of his hips, albeit slightly wrinkled now.

You tear your eyes away from his hips—momentarily wishing you could claw them out of your head—and rapidly think of a way to cover up your small blunder. You think about amending your statement by offering Pocari Sweat in a garbled accent but it seems best to ignore the mistake entirely. More importantly, you don't have any Pocari Sweat to offer.

“Of course! I'm such a bad host. I should have offered you something right away. _Haha_ ,” you say, laughing in a way so awkward it makes you want to run and hide. Kiyoshi, however, doesn't pay your inelegance any mind and turns his attention to a picture of you on the wall.

“How old were you here?” he asks, smiling so wide you can see the whites of his teeth.

“I think about three,” you tell him, grimacing. “I hated that dress.”

“At three?” Kiyoshi shakes his head. “Already knowing what it meant to hate at such a young age,” he needles playfully. “Anyway, you shouldn't. You look charming.” He turns away from the wall and starts walking in the direction of your living room. “I remember a picture my grandparents took of me in the Fuji-Goku area, I believe it was. I'm wearing a pair of overalls and a wide-brim hat that belonged to my dad.” Kiyoshi's mouth breaks into a smile and he exhales a soft breath of laughter. “It was way too big on me. I could hardly see a thing. My grandfather is in the picture with me. We went fly-fishing that day and I'm smiling at the camera, holding a fish that couldn't have been more than three inches long. Still, to me, it was a huge catch.” He continues smiling as he recalls the fond memory. “I wish we had more pictures to be honest. It's nice to go back in time and see the things we might not otherwise remember.”

You arch an eyebrow and return his smile. “It was a class picture and I frankly don't associate it with many good memories. Nonetheless, I get your point and maybe one day I'll appreciate it.” You know the doubt is visible on your face because Kiyoshi emits a peal of laughter before taking residence in a chair in the corner of the room. He opens his mouth to say something but you interject before he pulls the strings of your conversation away from its current trajectory. “I want to see that picture someday. It sounds adorable. I bet you were the cutest kid.”

Kiyoshi presses his elbows in against his knees and bows his head. “I don't know about that. I looked pretty awkward if you ask me. I was really lanky, all knobby joints and lean limbs. All the meat on me seemed to go straight to my chubby face. That being said, I was much cuter then than I am now.”

“I think you're plenty cute,” you blurt, and this time you know you won't be so lucky to hide the shade of embarrassment that's creeping along the contours of your cheeks. You quickly turn around and disappear into the kitchen for a cold glass of water.

When you return only a moment later, after having splashed some cool water on your face, Kiyoshi is dragging his palm over the rounded bend of his left knee.

“Are you all right?” you ask him, passing him the clear beverage and frowning.

“Yeah.” Kiyoshi lifts his head and offers you a nod as he takes the glass into his large hand. “Sometimes the humidity makes it act up.” Kiyoshi takes a swig of water then licks his lips. “It's just as bad as when it rains.” He lifts his shoulders in the barest hint of a shrug and places the glass down on the floor next to his right foot. “I don't like to complain though. I'm grateful to be able to walk at all. It could have been much worse.”

“Forever the optimist,” you say, smiling. “I haven't even known you that long and I can't help but admire your willingness to see the good in everything.”

Kiyoshi lifts his hand, his fingers slick with condensation, to the hem of your dress. He returns your smile as he pinches the material between his long digits and tugs the fabric taut. His knuckles graze your thigh and you jolt as a shiver rockets down the length of your spine.

“I try my best,” he answers, something low reverberating deep in his chest. His eyes seem to darken but you deem it a trick of the light because it's not possible for Kiyoshi to look so devious. “I was taught to offer sympathy to those who need it most. My grandmother is a firm believer that those who give into acts of evil have been spurned in their lives. She says that they just haven't been shown the love and affection people need to thrive. My grandfather, on the other hand, believes that it's just an excuse for her to be sarcastic since most of the time pretending to look the other way winds up next to cynicism.” Kiyoshi laughs then. “You should come over for a meal sometime. I think you'd get a kick out of them. They're funny enough on their own but together they're something else entirely.”

“How long have they been together?” You tilt your head a fraction and watch Kiyoshi's expression crease every wrinkle of his forehead into prominence.

“Well, let's see...” He knits his brows together and worries the bottom corner of his mouth between his teeth. “I believe they got married when they were just out of school,” –he mumbles to himself, counting on his fingers– “so this year would be their fortieth anniversary!”

“That's a long time,” you respond. “Are you going to throw them a party?”

“I think it's only fair considering the fact that they raised me but it certainly won't be a surprise party. I think Baba would kill me,” Kiyoshi says, absentmindedly letting the epithet hug into his statement. “She does not appreciate spontaneity.” His mouth bends on a smile as if he's recalling another fond memory, then he finally lets his hand fall away from the bottom of your dress. He rubs his palms together and leans back against the plush support of the chair. “Are you going to take your shower?”

The question catches you unawares and you sputter nonsense for a brief moment before finally responding with a curt affirmative. “I won't be too long if you'd like to hang out in here. The remote for the T.V. is over on the coffee table. I also have a gaming system in my...” you trail off, a strange feeling warring with the proposal to allow Kiyoshi into your room.

Kiyoshi immediately picks up on your apprehension and waves a hand to dispel the offer. “It's okay. I think I'm going to relax here if you don't mind. I need to give my knee a few minutes to loosen up anyway.”

You nod your head, and before you have a chance of making the situation uncomfortable, you leave the area and make your way to your bedroom for clean laundry. It takes you longer than usual to pick out an outfit. Your first choice, a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized tee go back into your closet in exchange for a pair of shorts that pass for real denim and another oversized tee that's...well, a little less oversized than its predecessor.

“Who am I trying to impress? It's my house and it's a million degrees outside,” you mutter aloud. Even in your attempt to come to terms with this fact, you're not fully able to drive out the ball of electricity sparking in the low of your abdomen. Despite your trepidation, you retrieve a strappy sports bra and conceal it between the other articles of clothing before rushing from the room.

You don't know why you feel as though you have to behave like a criminal in your own home but the rush of— _what is it exactly?_ —rushing through your veins has you feeling overwrought. Still and all, this feeling pales in comparison to how you feel when you realize, halfway through your shower, that you've forgotten to grab a pair of panties.

You emit a groan of frustration and remind yourself that the walk from the bathroom to your bedroom isn't the trek you're making it out to be. It's a minor issue and certainly not worthy of the way your body is responding. Your heart is racing in your chest and your legs feel shaky and weak.

When you feel that you've managed to scrub away the grit and the perspiration of today's venture, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself up like a Christmas present. You do your daily routine and dab a small amount of concealer on a persistent pimple that just won't go away in spite of the numerous things you've tried to do away with it. You exhale a sigh of irritation and shake your hair free from the elastic holding it up in a messy bun. You comb your fingers through your tangled strands and spray some dry shampoo under your tresses in an attempt to freshen it up.

You get dressed, sans underwear, and swipe on deodorant before you forget for the third time since escaping the steamy cubical. You check your appearance one last time, finally feeling confidant enough to leave the room. After peering out from the bathroom door and checking both ways, you make a beeline for your bedroom. You rush inside and close the door behind you, implausibly out of breath and trembling. You press your forehead against the wooden surface and nearly scream when Kiyoshi's voice sounds from somewhere behind you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, curiosity and concern twined together.

“You scared the hell out of me! Again!” you say, voice raised. You press a hand to the space above your heart and try to calm its rabbit beat. “Why are you in my room?”

“Are you always this jumpy?” Kiyoshi asks, clearly biting back amusement. “Or do you just have bad luck when it comes to the combination of people and doors?”

“Nope. This is a fairly new development,” you retort, the anger in your voice speaking for the fear still winding tight in your gut. You inhale a deep breath and step away from the door. “I thought you were going to stay in the living room.” The implication overrides your previous question, the one Kiyoshi purposely failed to answer, accusation heavy on your tongue.

“I guess my curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't imagine what your room looked like so I decided to take a peek. I shouldn't have without your permission. I'm sorry.”

You feel your eyebrows raise in an expression of doubt because he doesn't sound sorry at all. In fact, he's still wearing a look of amusement and there's something like mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“And taking a _peek_ meant coming into my room to have look around?” you ask incredulously. You cross your arms over your chest and wait for Kiyoshi to respond.

“I said that's what I decided, not what I did,” is Kiyoshi's response, behind a transient smirk that you would have missed entirely if you weren't staring at the shape of his mouth.

“Don't be a smartass,” you say, unable to disguise the humor creeping into your voice.

Kiyoshi smiles and walks forward, his stride three times your own. He closes the distance between you with little effort, and when he's standing mere inches from your body you realize just how small you are up next to him. His shadow seems to swallow you whole and it lends you a feeling of excitement.

“My knee was hurting. I wanted to see if walking around would help,” he says softly, reaching out to tuck a section of hair behind your ear.

“Are you trying to play on my sympathy?” you ask him and lean into his touch unwittingly.

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Is it working?” His voice is smooth like the softness of velvet and thick like molasses. It's an attempt at seduction but you can't see it for what it is because you're trapped in the shadows swamping his vision.

You open your mouth to respond but Kiyoshi is moving forward to curl his fingers against the line of your waist. His grip is firm and it rumples the fabric of your shirt just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above the waistband of your shorts. His touch feels like an open flame but it's nearly extinguished by his breath when he fits his lips against the shape of your own. You can't mentally parse what's happening because you're being consumed by heat much hotter than the blazing temperature outside. You feel like you're melting right into the floor, your legs nothing more than fragile sticks turning to embers. You struggle to breathe around the ash gathering in your lungs and the fever kissing your skin is making you dizzy with desire.

You feel a hand leave your waist and only seconds later you feel the gentle scratch of Kiyoshi's palm against your cheek. He tilts his head and presses his thumb against your bottom lip. You heed the unspoken command and part your lips to make room for Kiyoshi's tongue. He explores your mouth like a sailor sent across an uncharted sea, eager and inquisitive and _starved_.

After he's stolen the breath from your lungs, he slips his thumb into your mouth and you can taste the salt on his skin. He draws back just enough to gauge your expression and when you open your eyes, he's still so close you can almost count his eyelashes. You blink in an attempt to clear the haze from your vision and close your mouth around the digit in your mouth. You don't know what's spurring you on but you do know that things are moving too fast in a direction you're not sure you're ready to explore. Be that as it may, you let Kiyoshi slide his thumb over the flat of your tongue and suck the heat from his skin, regardless of the consequences.

“Fuck,” Kiyoshi breathes, and the sound of profanity on his lips makes you shudder. The quiver shaking your bones doesn't go unnoticed and Kiyoshi views it as permission to take things further. He slides his thumb free of your mouth, his knuckle dragging against the edges of your teeth. There's a trail of saliva on your lips when he draws away but it breaks no sooner than his hands are tugging the hem of your shirt away from your skin.

“Teppei,” you manage, voice straining against the dark of your throat. You lift your arms and shake your hair free of the fabric before it sails across the room in a ball that lands somewhere near the head of your bed. The air feels cool against your skin but it's not to blame for the gooseflesh the mottles your arms. You chase a chill down your spine and press your hand against Kiyoshi's bare flesh to steady yourself. You furrow your brow, not knowing how you could have missed when he removed his own shirt. You almost wish it was a figment of your imagination because the heat of his bare skin against your fingertips is making your head spin.

“I want you,” Kiyoshi tells you, overriding every thought swimming in the waters of your perception. “I want you so bad it hurts.” He fits his hand against the freckled column of your throat and holds you tight. “I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the day we met.” He ducks his head forward and plants a firm kiss against your lips before biting down on your bottom lip in a possessive gesture of wanting. “I have done terrible things thinking about you. I've done things in places where I shouldn't have dreamed of doing them. You're driving me insane, ____. I can't take it anymore.”

And it's plain as the desperation on his breath that he physically _can't_ because he's bodily pushing you back up against the wall and kissing the fear right off your swollen lips. Your legs ache from the strain of keeping yourself upright and when the soles of your feet begin to pulse you realize that you've been resting the brunt of your weight on your toes in order to reach him properly.

“Teppei,” you utter again, his name fractured by breath. Kiyoshi follows the line of your jaw down to the base of your neck, peppering a trail of open-mouthed kisses and gentle bites along your skin. You arch away from the wall and exhale a shaky breath, hands pressing hard against the low of his hard abdomen. “The bed,” you urge breathlessly.

After the words leave your mouth you're imbued with the significance of your suggestion. A wealth of emotions come over you like an avalanche but Kiyoshi is already lifting you up and carrying you over to your unmade bed. You emit a tiny noise that sounds like a squeak and quickly wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. You can feel Kiyoshi's laughter ghost your collarbones before he drops you down onto the mattress. He blankets you in an instant, your upper body caged between his arms and the weight of his arousal firm against your leg.

“I want you to be mine,” he rasps, staring down at you with the intensity of a lion hunting its prey. “I want to leave my hand-prints on your skin and mark you up with my teeth.” He lowers his head and drags the flat of his tongue across your chest. “I want my name to be the only one to pass over your lips. I want you to be as obsessed with me as I am you.” He lifts his head and you reach out to sweep the hair sticking to his forehead out of his eyes. Kiyoshi keeps his gaze fixed on you as he turns his head to press a kiss onto the heart of your palm.

“Why?” you whisper, unable to put any real volume behind the question.

“Because everything about you drives me fucking crazy,” he tells you, canting his hips in a downward motion that adds friction to the weight against your skin. His mouth comes open on a gasp just short of relief and something clicks in the back of his throat. “I've thought about this day for so long. I've spent countless nights with nothing more than my hand to alleviate this tension, just begging for a chance to be with you.”

You open your mouth to respond but the onslaught of Kiyoshi's confession leaves you speechless. You can't wrap your mind around the sudden revelation and the fact that it's gone unnoticed for so long. Your mind is being pulled in several directions at once and you feel like you're trying to outrun a bullet train on foot. Then, suddenly, everything skids to a halt and you're coming away from the bed, hands flying to Kiyoshi's head to tug at his short strands in a reactionary response to the teeth scraping over your left nipple.

“Kiyo—Teppei!” you stammer, your tone high-pitched and steeped with surprise.

Kiyoshi lifts his head and laughs before flicking his tongue out against the clothed peak, already hard in response to his rough ministration. “You can call me what you want but I'd really like it if you called me daddy.”

As if what he's just requested fits into normal conversation, Kiyoshi carries on and slips his fingers under the elastic band of your bra to tug it up and over the swell of your breasts. You try to fit protest behind the shock framing your lips but nothing leaves your mouth save for a tiny grunt.

He stares up at you under the thick lines of his lashes as he takes a turgid peak into his mouth and manipulates the sensitive tissue with his teeth and tongue. There's a demon dancing behind the lights in his eyes and when it looks back at you, you can feel evident arousal build between your thighs. You bite your bottom lip to stifle the whimper that's gathering in your throat and tighten your grip on Kiyoshi's soft strands. His mouth slants on a smirk as he moves to the opposite nub and rolls the newly-dampened peak between his thumb and forefinger. He manipulates your breasts with his hands and mouth like he's composed and orchestrated this piece before, his mouth like a symphony and his talent stands high; in his composition he is unrivaled.

You hang in the balance of pleasure and presentiment as if you're standing at the crossroads of good and evil, if such things truly exist. You want Kiyoshi as much as he wants you but everything is happening so fast—he's a hurricane and your thoughts are bending over the backs of broken innocence, ready to be blown away with the storm.

“Perfect,” Kiyoshi whispers, tearing your awareness back to the present. You look down the narrow gap between your bodies to where he's holding himself up. He's dragging his gaze over your body and sweeping his tongue across his pale pink lips. “Though, it must be hard to be this short,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you counter, followed by a short breath of laughter.

Kiyoshi moans, a playful smile still on his lips despite the fact that he's drawing his stiff member out from behind the waistband of his shorts. You swallow thickly, hardly able to believe what you're seeing. It's not just the fact that you're watching him stroke over himself above you, on your bed nonetheless, or the bead of precome glistening on the swollen head of his cock, it's the brazenness of his actions. Never in a thousand years would you have pegged Kiyoshi for this type, but the evidence before you is as stark as the wonder in your eyes.

“I can't begin to tell you how many times I've done this, thinking about you. You probably wouldn't believe me if I did. But doing this here, right in front of you, feels so different. I could come right now if I didn't know how to hold myself back.”

For some reason, the thought of Kiyoshi ending things now strikes something akin to fear in your heart and you reach out to grip his shoulder. “Please don't,” you plead fervently.

“Don't fret, babydoll,” Kiyoshi says, almost soothingly. His breath hitches and you watch as he smears the viscous fluid beading from his slit into his skin with the pad of his thumb. “I've waited far too long for this to end things here.”

You wonder if the epithet plays on his desire to be termed _daddy_. It feels strange at first but the connotation, as taboo as it seems, wakes a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your stomach and heat pooling between your thighs.

He squeezes the base of his cock firmly, then moves his hands to your hips in tandem. His fingers catch on the flexible fabric and before you can take your next breath, he slides your shorts down your thighs to catch at your knees. He shifts on the bed, allowing just enough room to slide them off the rest of the way and shuck his own before fitting himself in the space between your knees. His hands are rough when he parts your thighs, insistent and demanding, as if he's exhausted his restraint and his patience is threadbare.

Kiyoshi sucks a breath between his teeth and when he lifts his gaze to meet your own, there's fire in his eyes. “You're so wet for me.” He doesn't wait for a response and you don't attempt one as he slides two fingers down your labia and thumbs your slit. You gasp and the sound evidently breeds encouragement because Kiyoshi's gripping your hips and tugging you up and away from the bed. He falls back on his heels, knees folded against your bed in a way that would concern you if you were able to focus on anything other than the hard resistance of his cock brushing against your slick apex.

Kiyoshi shifts your legs until they're wrapped tight around his waist as you circle your arms around his neck, all while he keeps you balanced with the strength of a single hand. When he's satisfied with the position of your limbs, he fits his free hand against the curve of your backside and holds your weight up properly.

“Put me inside of you,” he demands, fingers pressing in against the give of your flesh in a way that sends lightning through your veins. You heed the command and lower a hand to the scant space between your bodies. His cock is hot to the touch, firm and thick, and you can feel the rush of his blood beneath your fingertips as you press the tip of it against your pulsing entrance. His cock twitches at the contact and with his help, you manage to slide down onto his length with ease, your body fitting tight around his girth like two pieces of a puzzle coming together.

You exhale relief simultaneously but Kiyoshi's sigh is louder than your own, shown in the lines of his face when you draw your gaze up to his face. His eyes are half-lidded and his mouth is slack, framed on words he can't speak. You undulate your hips and Kiyoshi's eyes come open to reveal heat-glazed orbs. He wets his lips and thrusts upward, driving his length to the limits of your sex. You cling to his frame, limbs shaking and body teeming with pleasure. With each mutual movement, your breasts shift against his chest, the friction sending tiny shocks of electricity through your nipples with a tremor in the cadence that no musician could find.

“God, you feel so good. No amount of perfection I dreamed of could have prepared me for this,” Kiyoshi says, his lips moving against the flushing heat of your cheek. “You're so wet and hot and tight. _Fuck_ you're tight,” he drawls, passion dripping from his lips.

Kiyoshi fucks into you roughly, his hands squeezing your ass for some semblance of purchase. You can feel his cock swelling inside of you and your own pleasure tipping the scales of self-control. You cling to him harder as lust tears through you like a wildfire out of control, and it's not until there's nothing left to burn that you begin to fall apart.

“Daddy,” you moan, bouncing on Kiyoshi's cock like everything in your life rests on this very moment. “Daddy, please. I'm so close,” you tell him, trembling and febrile.

“Fuck,” Kiyoshi snaps, spitting the word like its venom on his tongue. He wraps his arm around the low of your back and while keeping himself fully seated inside of you, he lies back against the bed. “Give me your hands,” he says, holding up his own. You reach out and take his hands, easily twice the size of your own, and Kiyoshi laces your fingers together. He bucks his hips and fucks into you deep, putting feasible reason to his request. You fight gravity and the precarious design of your position but the angle hits just right and offers little resistance. The slide comes easy and it's not long before Kiyoshi is chanting your name, filling you up with his release and squeezing your fingers to the point of near-pain. It doesn't matter, however, because you're too close to the edge to fall back now. There's only one direction laid out in front of you and when Kiyoshi gyrates his hips one last time, it's enough to send you spiraling out into the dark.

You're still coming down from the breathtaking planes of nirvana when Kiyoshi takes your face in his hands and draws you down on top of him. He kisses you slow and deep, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth as your bodies recover from their tremendous response to the delicious stimuli that claimed you.

You're shaking like an orphan that's been left out in the cold but the only thing you can focus on is the way Kiyoshi is softening inside of you and the amount of come he's left within your sacred walls. It's not a bad feeling, one that bears some getting used to, but it makes you feel like he's left a piece of himself inside of you. Realizing just how creepy that makes you sound, you try to aim your attention at the way Kiyoshi is nibbling on your bottom lip.

Somewhere between all of the sex and the aftermath and the self-discovery, for lack of a better word, you wind up snuggled beneath your covers with Kiyoshi pressed close to your skin. You can still feel his hands on your hips despite the time that's passed, and you know it's safe to assume that you'll be wearing his bruises later. You find that there are worse things for you to contend with and even come to appreciate the idea.

Kiyoshi's fingers are absentmindedly stroking your abdomen, his nose buried in the messy fall of your hair. You can feel his heartbeat against your back and calculate the rate of his breathing. It's soothing and when Kiyoshi speaks, you can't help but start.

“I have to ask,” he begins, sounding amused. “Were you wearing underwear earlier? When you were still in your dress?”

You groan and press your face against your pillow. “Of course. I just happened to forget them when I took my shower earlier.”

“Hmm,” Kiyoshi purrs, the resonance of the sound vibrating the shell of your ear. “That's a shame because I was going to suggest that you continue that trend when we go out to eat tonight.”

“What?” you exclaim, glancing at him over your shoulder. “You want me to go out in public in a dress with no underwear on? And since when were we going out to eat?”

“That's the idea,” he says, sliding his palm over the curve of your thigh. “As far as tonight goes, since you agreed to be mine I figured I should at least treat you to a nice meal.”

“I agreed to be yours, huh?” you ask, running your fingers over the back of Kiyoshi's hand. “I don't remember having that conversation.”

Kiyoshi places a chaste kiss on the nape of your neck and you can feel his mouth curve on a smile. “I guess we'll have to have it again then,” he says before nipping the curve of your shoulder.

“I guess so. But I have to wonder what this next _conversation_ is going to entail,” you tease, catching onto the overtone of Kiyoshi's remark like a kite takes to the sky.

“What kind of daddy would I be if spoiled that for you?” he asks, pressing himself even closer to the heat radiating from your skin.

“You would be a nice one, but judging by the way my body feels, that's not your cup of tea,” you tell him, now tracing the shape of his hand.

“Something tells me that a _nice_ cup of tea isn't what you're looking for.” Kiyoshi bites down on your shoulder and you gasp, your body drawing tight against him reflexively. “Something also tells me that you have a thing for hands as much as I do for being a daddy.”

You close your eyes and shiver as the truth of the statement takes shape somewhere deep within your body. You furl your toes and press your thighs together while silently cursing the boy at your back for dressing you in arousal so soon after your climax. However, you can't shake the thought of Kiyoshi's fingers moving inside of you and it does little in the way of calming the heat rousing your bloodstream.

“Go to sleep, Daddy,” you press, finding pleasure in the way the word slips off your tongue. “And you better be taking me somewhere nice tonight,” you add shrewdly.

“Only the best for my baby,” he answers, wrapping his arms tight around your body.

You close your eyes and try to ignore the sensation building between your thighs as you reach for sleep. It doesn't come easy, however, when all you can think about are the bruises that you'll have by the end of the week.

And at the end of the hour, you find that you're getting very, very _hungry_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
